


Part of The Plan

by phqyd_roar



Series: The Rise and Fall of Lord Voldemort [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, BDSM, Dom/sub, M/M, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Moral Ambiguity, POV Tom Riddle, Public Sex, Riddle Era, Sane Tom Riddle, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys, Submissive Lucius, Young Tom Riddle, dominant Riddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 06:09:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10507860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phqyd_roar/pseuds/phqyd_roar
Summary: If you asked Lord Voldemort at the height of his power, who was the one person who had contributed the most to his success, he would not say Lucius Malfoy. But it would nevertheless be true. Tom Riddle and his Knights of Walpurgis are about to leave Hogwarts for the beginning of his conquest, and he has no idea how much little Lucius would be able to help him on his way.Sequel to Falling Higher





	1. The Pureblood Christmas

Tom Riddle had spent his Christmases at Hogwarts for four years, until he realised that visiting one of his followers was an excellent way to avoid the scrutinizing eye of Albus Dumbledore, the only professor with so dull a life he stayed to chaperone the students every single Christmas. It was interesting. When he was much younger, he had wanted a family. A father who would bring home sweets for him, a mother to read to him by the fire, just like all those tattered children’s tales at the orphanage. The familial lives of his pureblood associates had proven that was just another lie.

Rabastan Lestrange lived in a literal haunted house. All his Lestrange ancestors, it seemed, far prefered having a shadow of their former lives of glory than braving death. His mansion, though large, was filled with tens upon hundreds of dead Lestranges who dominated their house with their ghostly affairs. Cassius Selwyn’s family was a long line of seers, real and fake, and all his relatives were fond of speaking to Riddle in a spooky predictive voice, claiming things that could be incredibly useful or absolute bullshit. This year, they would be hosted by the Rosiers. Remembering well the few times Rosier had mentioned his family, Riddle was darkly amused at the prospect of further eccentricity.

His Knights were waiting for him at the gate, but for Rosier, who had left early to prepare for their arrival. Riddle strode towards them and their chatter died down as he drew close. A few of them shook back the sleeves of their robes to check not their wristwatch, but their Infinium Bracelet, the recently given mark of their service, which would be tested for the first time today.

“Get ready,” Riddle said to them, and the boys nodded, pairing up the few of them who had not yet reached their seventeenth birthday and learned to apparate.

Riddle held out a hand to little Lucius Malfoy, who fitted himself into Riddle’s arms with a sly grin. Riddle pushed down the hot desire to slip his hand into the boy’s robes and pinch his pale skin. He waved away the image in his mind of Lucius sobbing, looking up at him with glistening grey eyes and begging for a kiss. That would not do. Riddle reached for Lucius’ right hand and pulled up his sleeve, running a finger over the boy’s pulse point. The pale grey lines that encircled his wrist, barely noticeable, darkened and materialised, rising out of his skin in the form of a silver serpent wound tightly around itself, tail in its mouth. Riddle tapped it with his wand and it began to spin. Within moments, Rosier answered, and it began to burn. One arm draped around Lucius’ waist, Riddle spun and disapparated.

Riddle and Lucius reappeared on the front steps of a sprawling manor house. Rosier stood in the open doorway with an anxious looking house elf. Several more pops sounded behind them, and Riddle glanced around in satisfaction to find all of his followers had gotten safely through the Rosiers’ anti-apparation barrier. Rosier and Lucius had done an excellent job on the Bracelet.

“My lord, my friends, welcome to my humble home,” drawled Rosier, directing the house elf to take their bags. “Leave your things, Mippy will take them up to your rooms. I must introduce you all to my mother. My lord, she is most excited to see you.”

“And I, her,” said Riddle, flashing a smile.

The old pureblood houses all looked like they had been designed by the same architect, stiff and proper three-storey manor houses that tried to intimidate through high ceilings and sharp lines. Riddle was utterly unphased, for all that he had grown up in a destitute orphanage. It took him three weeks in his first year, after he realised that his upbring was a weakness, to methodically research everything he could find in the Hogwarts library about pureblood culture. Then he put the stupid bullies in their place and reinvented himself as Tom Riddle, heir of Slytherin. At first they had scoffed at him, but by second year they were convinced, and by third year Riddle realised that his unlikely bluff was _true_. He was here for a reason, and magic itself was on his side.

As he expected, Rosier showed them into the first parlour, where Angelina Rosier stood silent and elegant by the window. Sandy hair was entwined into a long, neat braid, a few flying tendrils framing an intelligent face with sharp blue eyes. The famous matriarch of the house. Riddle dropped smoothly into a bow, wand hand spread to the side - the dramatic, flourishing bow of two purebloods making first acquaintance. Riddle pulled it off like he had been taught by tutors since he was three.

Pleasantries were exchanged. Riddle only gave half a thought to the conversation, his mind racing ahead to wonder where on the grounds was a good place to perform his ritual. This Christmas was the last before he left the comfort of Hogwarts and set his plan properly in motion. This Christmas, he intended to become immortal.

It was when Angelina had turned to address the rest of the Slytherins that Riddle heard something that caught his attention.

“-- Nine rooms, all side by side in the north wing --”

“That’s very kind, Angelina, but only eight rooms will be necessary,” said Riddle, pulling Lucius to his side.

Mrs. Rosier’s eyebrows shot up as she peered at the two of them over the top of her glasses, Riddle poker-faced, Lucius blushing and mortified.

“That won’t be a problem at all,” she declared after a small pause, clapping her hands for Mippy. “Well, I shan't hold you any longer, I’m sure we can get to know each other very well at supper. Mippy will show you to your rooms and you can get settled in.”

“Thank you, Angelina,” said Riddle. He smiled widely and bowed again.

 

Walking down the corridor, Rosier caught his eye and made an obscene gesture, smirking knowingly. Riddle raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Lucius caught the exchange, walking right next to Riddle, and looked mortified. The erotic fantasies started playing in his head again. How bothersome it was to be a hormonal teenager.

As Mippy closed the door behind them, Riddle saw no reason he should deny himself any longer. Riddle spun round and pinned Lucius against the door.

“Master,” the boy gasped with wide-eyed innocence.

“Do you think you shall enjoy sleeping in my room, Lucius?” Riddle asked lightly.

“Yes, Master?”

“For such a privilege, I shall expect you to make yourself useful.”

“Yes, Master. Whatever you want.”

“When you’re in here you should be naked. You should be prepared to serve your master at all times, don’t you agree?”

Riddle pushed a knee between Lucius’ legs and spread them, trailing a hand down Lucius’ abdomen to rub against the hardened outline of Lucius’ cock. Lucius breathed heavily, gazing at him plaintively, trying to keep still and keep quiet, things Riddle had taught him to do under whip and cane. In truth, Riddle rather enjoyed Lucius buckling and crying, but he enjoyed it all the more when Lucius couldn’t help doing so despite fear of punishment. Riddle enjoyed it, too, when Lucius tried so hard to deny himself, just because it pleased him.

“Do it now.”

Lucius shed his school uniform, something he had learned to do quickly and neatly, as he had practiced doing so several times a day under Riddle’s predatory gaze. In fact, he had learned all things Riddle taught him remarkably fast, from bedroom techniques to deadly curses. Whatever it was, Lucius would give it all his effort, and then look to Riddle, anxious and anticipating, desperate for a word of praise. It was lovely.

“Where’s your lubricant?”

A while ago, Lucius had brewed them a large supply of lubricant with healing and soothing properties, that he carried everywhere with him, since Riddle often decided to fuck him in all sorts of places and conjured lubricant left him terribly sticky.

“ _Accio_ lubricant,” Lucius said, and the little vial flew out of his bag.

“Get on all fours on the bed and finger yourself. While you do that, you can tell me how much you like it when I fuck you.”

Lucius was so obedient. It was not the first time Riddle had thought of him as a little puppy, foolish and enthusiastic. Yet he was not this way with others. At first, Riddle had thought Lucius’ attraction was to power, but Lucius was undaunted by any of the Knights, not even his second-in-command Rosier. Another of the many reasons that Lucius pleased him.

Lucius knelt on the edge of the large bed, arse in the air, fingers wet with light blue gel pushing in and out of his dusty pink pucker. Obscene.

“Don’t you have something to say to me, boy?” Riddle reminded, flicking a Stinging Hex at Lucius’ arse.

“I like it, I like it when you fuck me, Master,” Lucius yelped, his voice muffled and embarrassed.

“Really. How so?”

“Um.”

“Nothing to say?” Riddle threw out another Stinging Hex. “I must assume you’re lying to me, then.”

“No, Master,” Lucius cried, fucking himself with three fingers. “What should I say…? It’s a privilege...to serve you...like this.”

“Go on.”

“When you fuck me, I’m so honoured you want to...use me,” Lucius whimpered. “I love having my Master stretch me open...I love your cock, Master…”

Already there was a hint of tears in Lucius’ voice. Perfect, polite little pureblood, Lucius was so embarrassed to say such shameless things. Riddle was painfully aroused, and he palmed his erection through his breeches, watching Lucius’ fingers sink into his own arse.

“Is that all?”

“I really like it, Master. Please believe me.”

Riddle almost laughed. Before he could answer, their door swung open. Rosier and Selwyn stood frozen in the doorway, Selwyn’s mouth half open as though he had been about to speak before he realised what a bad idea that would be.

“So much for being a Seer, Selwyn, doesn’t help your manners much. Don’t you _dare_ move,” he added to Lucius, who scrambled at once when he said Selwyn’s name.

“We knocked,” said Rosier in their defence, backing away.

“No. Don’t leave,” Riddle said bitingly. With a wave of his wand he locked the door behind Rosier and Selwyn. “That’s twice, Rosier. Evidently you have a great interest in what happens behind my closed doors. It would be impolite of me to curse you in your own home. So please, have a good look.”

Rosier and Selwyn looked at each other, deathly uncomfortable. Little Lucius was still on his hands and knees, his fingers fisted in the sheets, legs brought in a little closer, shaking with humiliation. Riddle was rarely angry, and no more than slightly annoyed now, but he was very adept at controlling people and this was one of the more fun maneuvers.

“I’m sure your legs were spread wider than that. Spread them.”

Lucius gave a strangled gasp. He obeyed, shifting his knees open more.

“Wider.” Riddle aimed a Stinging Hex at Lucius’ inner thigh. “As you were. Finger yourself. Do it.”

Choking back sobs, Lucius obeyed him.

“Now what did you two want?” Riddle asked calmly.

“My lord, we’re deeply sorry,” said Selwyn, looking green. “We have learned our lesson. We respect your privacy.”

“It’s not a problem. What did you come here for?”

“We were...going to invite you to tea in the Spring Room. It’s fine. Take your time. Take all the time,” said Rosier.

“Oh! How could I keep you waiting. Just a second.” Riddle turned around and summoned an item from his bag, and held it up to Rosier and Selwyn. It was a large knobbly butt plug. “I’ll make it quick.”

Riddle walked over to Lucius, pushed his hand away, and shoved the plug into him carelessly. Lucius cried out, his voice breaking. Riddle tapped his wand to the protruding end, and it began to vibrate.

“Get dressed.”

Lucius stumbled to his feet, cheeks smeared with tears. He took one look at Riddle and gave up on protesting. He grabbed his clothes and put them on as quickly as he could.

“Let’s all go and have tea,” Riddle said brightly.

The walk down the stairs was delightfully awkward.

On entering the Spring Room, Rosier pulled out the chair at the head of the table for Riddle and bowed. Sensing the atmosphere from how subdued Rosier and Selwyn both were, the other Knights respectfully stood up. Riddle took the seat. He indicated the seat opposite his own, far down at the other end of the table, for Lucius. Rosier and Selwyn took the seats on either side of Riddle. Riddle may be fucking Lucius, but he knew better than to give him preferential treatment just because of that. Riddle had designed a strict hierarchy into his ranks, the better to rule. It gave them a position to be proud of or covet. Riddle took a great satisfaction in the formalities, in the respect and deference he was shown. With a personality so naturally domineering, his childhood as a poor downtrodden orphan had given him much to compensate for.

Riddle stirred a splash of milk into his tea. The china was dainty. Rosier’s mother’s feminine influence was apparent.

“You have a fine house, Rosier,” he said casually.

“Thank you, my lord. After we’ve had tea, I can give you all a tour. There are a few spots you’re recommended to avoid, like my brother’s rooms on the third floor.”

Riddle paused. “You have a brother? I have only heard you mention a sister.”

“Yes, well, he’s not much of a brother,” Rosier shrugged. “Every pureblood family has a dirty secret, right? My brother is...disabled. He’s not a squib, but he certainly can’t go to school.”

“Is it in-breeding?” Avery asked.

Rosier shrugged again, the only outward sign of his defensiveness. “My parents aren’t quite brother and sister, but who knows? All the glorification of blood purity has been laying waste to the noble houses of old, mine is no different. Look at all of the Sacred Twenty-eight.”

“It’s a gamble,” Avery said. “Look at you and your sister.”

“Ophelia and I are fine due to good luck and an extraordinary mother. But even then, what is the point? My lovely sister, Ravenclaw Head Girl, absolutely formidable witch, had to marry at twenty-two to that moron Black, because of some ludicrous marriage contract my father signed when she was born. How dare they? Witches were so formidable in the days of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, then after the Statute passed and the pureblood Houses formed, all of a sudden witches had to marry young and pump out little brats. Now how many powerful pureblood witches do you hear about? All at home, having children. The few good witches in the Ministry are all half-bloods. Mudbloods get nowhere either, who would believe they’d be good for anything? It’s absolutely ridiculous.”

“You know, I’ve heard you go on about it a hundred times, but it does hit a little harder after meeting your mother,” said Selwyn.

“Everything I do is to get her the justice she deserves,” Rosier said matter-of-factly. “Also me, but my mother deserves far more.”

“A noble goal,” Riddle said, nodding. “When you are in the Ministry, you will be able to change the way things are.”

“I’ve decided to go to the Morphina Institute of Higher Arts, first,” said Rosier, glancing at him. “They sent me a conditional invitation for Ancient Runes. And you, my lord? Didn’t the Headmistress write you a personal invitation back in November?”

The Morphina Institute of Higher Arts was the only wizarding university in the world, situated in an unplottable valley in the Alps. Riddle remembered being surprised when he had learned that it was the only one, when there were so many universities in the muggle world. He had understood better when he learned that wand-magic was the sole form of magic only in Europe and the New World. In Asia, in Africa, when the tradition of magic was old and undamaged, there were many ways magic manifested, and magic was taught, more often, from master to apprentice. There was so much he had yet to learn, and he thirsted for it with intensity.

“‘It is not the magic you do, but the impact you make’,” Riddle said, quoting the school motto of the Morphina Institute. “Such ethics. I doubt they have much to teach me.”

“True,” said Rosier. “You would not benefit much there. All the years I’ve known you, you’ve been bored to tears. You could have graduated long ago if that was an option.”

“Despite that, Hogwarts has been useful to me,” said Riddle, looking down the table with a small smile. He had gathered the best of Hogwarts, and with their help he would break the system. “Morphina will serve you well, Rosier. The prestige of that school will make your ascent through the Ministry that much easier.”

Catching sight of Lucius, the boy looked away from his conversation with Rookwood to give him such a pleading glance. Riddle finished his tea, a smirk spreading slowly across his lips.

“Rosier, why don’t you give the boys the tour?”

Rosier followed his gaze, and obeyed without question.

As the others set down their tea and biscuits and left the room, Lucius pushed back his chair and all but ran towards Riddle.

“Please?” He began, tears brimming at once. He must have been trying so hard, pretending he didn’t have a vibrating knobbed monster in his arse.

“Shh. _Finite._ ”

Lucius groaned in relief as the plug stopped moving inside him.

“Thank you, thank you. Can I take it out?”

“No,” said Riddle, “let’s go for a walk.”

Riddle put a hand around Lucius’ waist and guided him in the direction of the patio doors, exiting into the chill of frozen December grounds. Lucius shivered, and Riddle cast a warming charm around him without thought.

“Did you hear what Rosier and I were discussing?”

“Was it about jobs after you graduate? That’s what Rookwood and Dolohov were talking about.”

“Yes. Rosier hopes to attend the Morphina Institute. He will make an excellent politician for me. We all have our places in the vision.”

“And you, my lord?”

“I plan to travel. There are things Hogwarts cannot teach me, things I need to know.”

Lucius bit his lip, so obviously anxious.

“You want to know what I will do with you, hm?” Riddle said, smiling. Lucius was such a child, pathetically transparent.

Lucius nodded.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

“What?” Lucius stared at him. “This summer?”

“All of it,” said Riddle. He paused to brush a lock of white blond hair behind Lucius’ ear. “I can take you with me, if you would like to join me.”

“What do you mean? I’m fourteen. You want me to drop out of school for you?”

“It’s your choice, Lucius. You already use NEWT material in Arithmancy, Transfiguration, and DADA with ease. If I spend some time with you on Potions and Charms, you could sit those five NEWTs at the end of the year, graduate, and leave with me.”

“But I can’t sit NEWTs. I haven’t even sat my OWLs yet, the only one I have is Arithmancy…”

“I can take care of that. If you want to sit the NEWTs, you can.”

Lucius looked down, visibly conflicted. “I don’t know, my lord. I - my father would never agree.”

“I can take care of that,” Riddle repeated, silently irked.

He disliked how much Lucius was still tied to his father. He had told Lucius to join him here at the Rosier House, rather than go home to his father, and Lucius had obeyed. It was a defiance, a step to release Lucius from the wizard’s grasp. His wayward son would not come sobbing and begging for forgiveness for besmirching the family name, as the old man expected. Lucius had been glad to avoid the confrontation, but he was hesitant to break of his only family connection completely. Riddle would have to take care of that. Lucius could not be allowed to have loyalties to anyone other than him.

“Could I think about it for a while, master?” Lucius looked at him apologetically.

“Do you understand how much of a privilege I am offering you?”

“Yes!” Lucius stopped, turned, clung to the front of Riddle’s robes, his eyes wide and earnest. “I know, my lord, I am so grateful. Please, give me a bit more time.”

Riddle gave him a long, calculated look.

“If you wish.”

He gently brushed Lucius’ hands off himself and continued walking. He could feel the silence pressuring Lucius better than any threat he could make. Of course, he could just order Lucius to come with him, he could even put the boy in a full-body bind and throw him in his luggage, but making him choose was far more effective. Lucius was a long-term investment, and keeping the balance of fear and adoration was essential.

Lucius would need to stew a bit longer than this, he knew. He scanned the grounds of the Rosier estate and headed for the woodlands. Lucius remained quiet all through their walk, as Riddle led him deeper and deeper into the woods. Was the boy frightened yet? He ought to be, if he had any brains at all.

They stopped in the perfect clearing. Riddle threw out a hand for Lucius to stop at the edge, and he paced around it, checking the size and the debris on the forest ground. This would be an excellent place to conduct his ritual.

Riddle turned around. Lucius stood where he had put him, watching him anxiously.

“You’re wondering why we’re here, are you not?”

Lucius nodded.

“I intend to conduct a ritual,” Riddle said. “One that will require a human sacrifice.”

Lucius flinched, and his eyes widened with terror. He turned to look back at the way they had come, as if he could not help himself, registering how far from the house they had now come. Riddle felt the dark amusement curl in his gut, pooling into arousal.

“Come here.”

Lucius walked towards him, with every step trembling more pronouncedly. When he was a pace away Riddle tugged him in, pulling the smaller boy flush against him, and smoothed his hands down the back of the boy’s robes to cup his arse.

“Strip,” he whispered.

“Master,” Lucius whimpered, shaking in his arms.

“Don’t question me. Just obey.”

So lovely. Riddle watched with dark eyes as Lucius fumbled with his robes. He had not been able to make Lucius so afraid since the beginning of their little affair. He enjoyed this recreation, though that had not been his original intention. It was intoxicating.

Once Lucius had dropped all his clothes to the ground, Riddle made him kneel on top of them and spread his arse open with his hands. The end of the butt plug protruded from between Lucius’ cheeks, and Riddle caught hold of it, dropping to one knee, slowly pushing it in and out, watching fascinated as Lucius’ hole stretched wide around the toy. Though he had not considered fucking boys before Lucius, he now found it quite preferable. It was neater, tighter, and Lucius did not require much coddling at all.

He did not undress but to release his cock from his robes, and replaced the plug with its blunt tip, his hands wrapped around Lucius’ narrow hips as he rolled him down onto his cock again and again. He didn’t speak, and Lucius was quieter than usual, no words, just soft gasps and occasional whimpers as he rocked into him. As he began fucking him harder, it occurred to Riddle to reach a hand around to fondle Lucius’ cock. He found the boy completely flaccid. Withdrawing his hand, he pounded into the boy at an increasingly brutal pace until he came.

“Get dressed,” Riddle said, the first words spoken in the clearing for at least half an hour.

Lucius flinched, then sat back on his heels and looked up at him. Riddle gave him an impatient look, and started walking towards the edge of the clearing as soon as Lucius started to do as he said. Lucius caught up with him a minute later, out of breath. Riddle slowed his gait.

“You thought I was going to kill you.” He kept any hint of his amusement from his voice. His tone was flat and factual.

Lucius glanced at him and down again. “I - um. A little.”

“Did you not recall that I had just been asking you to accompany me around the world?”

“I’m sorry, master.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Well - I thought, maybe you would kill me if I refused.”

“How would that achieve my end?”

“I’m sorry, master.” Lucius sounded so guilty. As if it was his fault Riddle had led him into an abandoned clearing and then said he needed a human sacrifice. Already he was taking the blame on himself for misunderstanding, even though he thought he was going to be murdered, and had been terrified of his impending death the whole time Riddle was fucking him. People were so endlessly amusing.

“Try not to be so stupid, Lucius. You know I expect more of you.”

“Yes, master.”

There was an interlude of silence as they cleared the woodland and the house was within sight.

“Master?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll come with you after you graduate. Thank you. It’s a great honour.”

Riddle finally allowed himself the self-satisfied smile that had been dying to burst through. He aimed it at Lucius, and the boy thought he was proud of him.

“Good. You can start by accompanying me to London tomorrow.”


	2. The Family Heirloom

“Mr Riddle! How lovely to see you again.”

Burke was a disgusting man, but Riddle had to tolerate his company as his store carried the best range of magical artifacts in Knockturn Alley. He had come in here at thirteen and Burke had been entirely snobbish before trying to rip Riddle off. Riddle had disabused him of that idea quite quickly. Now the man was positively smarmy. 

As Riddle quickly glanced around the shop, Burke went on to add, “Oh! And if it isn’t the Malfoy boy! Disgraced for sodomy, I hear.”

Riddle did not even have to turn his head to see Lucius stiffen, and he disliked Burke that much further. The man made it his duty to know every pureblood of the Sacred Twenty-eight, all the better to deny service to half-bloods and mudbloods if they came in. 

“I am interested in some ingredients, Burke.”

“But I am not an apothecary, Mr Riddle.”

Here they went again. Riddle did not mind pureblood mind-games at all, occasionally he liked them intensely, but all Burke did was waste his time and lower the collective intelligence of the room.

“But you can procure ingredients not offered at the regular apothecary, can you not, my good man?” Riddle smiled and put his right hand on the counter, bringing to Burke’s attention the ring with the Peverell coat of arms.

“I see you have come into your inheritance, Mr Riddle, my congratulations,” said Burke, a greedy light glinting in his eye. He reached out a hand as though to touch it, and Riddle slipped him the slip of parchment with the ingredient list.

Burke unfolded it under the counter and read it, his expression changing comically.

“My, my, Mr Riddle. These are not easily procured.”

“This is not our first time doing business, is it Burke? Money is not an issue. When can you have it?”

“Perhaps, by New Year.”

“No. I will have it by the Solstice.”

Burke opened his mouth as if to argue, but Riddle was sick of his feinting. He glared. Burke shut his mouth for a moment before opening again.

“One thousand.”

“I said money is not an issue, not that I’m sprinkling galleons from the skies.”

“But the urgency!”

“Six hundred, and no more arguing.”

“Eight hundred, and I bid you good day.”

“Lucius, hand me seven hundred galleons.”

Burke smiled. “Mr Riddle, it is always such a pleasure.”

“Have it delivered to the Rosier House by elf. Owl mail can be unpredictable.”

“Mr Riddle, you needn’t tell me how to do business.”

“Then I shall bid you good day. Come, Lucius.” 

He thrust the bottomless Gringotts pouch back into Lucius’ hand and strode gladly towards the door. 

“Where now?”

“Now we have breakfast,” Riddle said, allowing Lucius a little smile. After all, he had just spent seven hundred galleons of the boy’s money. “Then I have a few other errands to run.”

They headed for the turn to Diagon Alley. Riddle knew the place well. He had lived on Diagon Alley for three summers, learning every inch of the place and charming the shopkeepers. He led Lucius to a small cafe and ordered some food.

“Master,” Lucius said quietly. “What did you just buy?”

“What makes you think you can ask?” Riddle asked, honestly curious. By his estimation of the boy, he had not expected him to.

“You brought me with you, and you’re spending my money.” Lucius eyed him as if wondering if Riddle would be angry.

“Touche,” Riddle said. “Unicorn blood.”

Lucius stared at him for a moment.

“Why?”

“That answer is worth more than seven hundred.”

“You still have errands to run.”

“It would still be worth more.”

Lucius picked up his fork then put it down again.

“Is it the ritual you mentioned yesterday?”

Riddle inclined his head. “You’re improving. What is the ritual for?”

“What are the other ingredients?”

“You don’t need to know.”

Lucius ate and brooded for a while, then said, “Immortality.”

Riddle smiled, surprised again. But Lucius frowned thoughtfully, and said, “It isn’t the Horcrux ritual, is it? Because that one doesn’t work, and it’s very dangerous. Actually, I haven’t heard of any immortality ritual that does work.”

Riddle froze with his mouth full of eggs. He forced his body to unlock and swallowed his food. As most of his brain went into overdrive, one small part of him wondered how naive Lucius was, to mention such information so terribly casually.

“How do you know that?” Riddle said with forced calm.

Lucius hesitated. Riddle thought about how little qualm he would have to take Lucius somewhere abandoned and torture him until he gave every answer he knew, but before he could list all the spells he could use to make Lucius talk, the boy rubbed his left hand over his right wrist, where lay Riddle’s mark, and said,

“I have an ancestor who tried, he went insane, I think. My father told me when I was younger. He said it’s our biggest family secret.”

Oh Lucius, little Lucius. Riddle abandoned any pretense of eating and leaned across the table. 

“Is that all, hearsay?”

“We have a book in our library about it. My lord, you shouldn’t do it. There must be a better way.”

Riddle lost all patience at coaxing it out of Lucius. They couldn’t continue talking of Horcruxes in a Diagon Alley cafe. He stood up abruptly.

“My lord?”

“We’re going.”

Riddle thought back to when he had read Lucius’ school file and recalled Malfoy Manor’s address. He had never visited, so they could not apparate. Grabbing Lucius’ hand, he apparated them to a field in the suburbs of London that he had visited.

“It was dangerous to speak of such things where we were. Tell me everything you know.”

He didn’t have to torture Lucius at all. All he did was grasp Lucius arm with an urgent expression, and Lucius told him that the book was kept in the Malfoy library under bloodline protections, that it contained information the Malfoy ancestor had written about his own experiences with the Horcrux ritual, and he had left the flawed information in hope that one of his descendants would be able to perfect it. He had to have it, there was no question about it.

“Lucius, this is what we will do,” Riddle said.

  
  


He flew to Malfoy Manor with Lucius in his arms. The boy was amazed that he could fly without a broom. It was elementary, Riddle had invented the spell when he was twelve. He had tried out for the Slytherin Quidditch Team and failed. He did not care for sports, but he did want to fly, so instead he did the impossible and invented a spell to fly without a broom. It had been greatly convenient before he learned to apparate.

As he expected, they passed the wards at Malfoy Manor without problem. If Malfoy Senior hadn’t cut off Lucius from his Gringotts account, he certainly wouldn’t bother to change the wards. In the foyer, they encountered a house elf, who squeaked at Lucius about coming home and notifying his father. Riddle stunned the thing before it could finish.

“Library, Lucius, quickly.”

They ascended the stairs to the third floor, and Lucius pushed open the huge double doors on the left. The library was large, as to be expected for a pureblood family of eight generations. Word had it that the Black family library rivaled the Hogwarts collection, a pity he didn’t know any Blacks. Lucius headed straight for the back wall, running his fingers across the spine of the tomes until he stopped at a maroon-covered book named  _ Timeline of Goblin Wars, IV-XII, revised edition 43 _ .

He cut his finger and let his blood drip onto the cover.

“ _ Sanguis enim aperire malfoie _ _. _ ”

Nothing happened. Biting his lip, Lucius repeated the keyphrase, squeezing another drop of blood from his finger.

“What’s wrong?” Riddle asked.

“I don’t know! This is the book, I’m sure.”

“You must have missed an aspect of the protection.” Riddle paused, thinking, but before he could say another word his intuition caught a hint of danger and he swirled around, throwing up a shield.

“How dare you,” said Abraxas Malfoy, flushed in fury.

“Father.” Lucius paled, taking a half step behind Riddle.

“I disowned you for bringing shame to the Malfoy name, and now you are back to rob me? A good son I have raised.”

“Indeed, he is quite an asset,” Riddle said softly.

“Who is this, then? Your conspirator in sodomy? What now, a mudblood? How many other ways to disgust me can you think of?”

Lucius visibly flinched.

“There is no need to resort to words,” Riddle said, raising his wand.

“Shall you attack me in my own home? I will have you thrown in Azkaban.” Abraxas fired off several curses that Riddle lightly sidestepped, holding Lucius to his side. In return, he only fired a quick spell that found its target through the shield the elder Malfoy erected, and bound him tightly in thin white threads like a cocoon and squeezed tightly.

“Not much of a duelist, I see, Malfoy.”

“How dare you,” Abraxas said furiously, turning more crimson by the second. “Did the little slut tell you about the family treasure? I can tell you you will never get it. It can only be opened by the Malfoy patriarch, without force or coercion, and I will never allow it!”

How stupid people were. The answer was already evident. Riddle stepped closer to Abraxas Malfoy, glancing around at his pale, trembling son. Lucius’ eyes widened as he turned back.

“NO!”

“ _ Avada kedavra _ !”

The green light cancelled out the previous binding hex. Abraxas Malfoy went limp on the hardwood floor, quite deceased.

“What have you done?” Lucius said faintly, staring at the fresh corpse, horror etched on his face. 

Riddle hoped fervently that he had not miscalculated the strength of Lucius’ loyalty. 

“What had to be done. If I had not done so, he would have made your life miserable. I regret that you had to watch.”

Riddle levitated the corpse out of sight, behind another shelf.

“Now you are the Malfoy patriarch, my little Lucius. Try again.”

Lucius stared at him, his eyes swirling with a storm.

“This is of utmost importance, Lucius. Please.”

Lucius looked down, and slowly picked up the book. He invoked the bloodline protections for the third time, and this time, the book morphed into a small box. Lucius pressed his thumb to the catch, and the lid sprang open, revealing a thick roll of ancient, yellowing parchment. He lifted it out of the box, and hesitantly, held it out to Riddle.

Riddle glanced at it, and knew from the few words he picked out at the top of the scroll that this was indeed the Malfoy family treasure. He stowed it in his cloak, then pulled Lucius into his arms and kissed him deeply. 

“ My Lucius. You have done so well. Let me show you how pleased I am.”

The boy was pale and shaken, obviously troubled. Riddle would make that change. Riddle knew exactly how much Lucius wanted his affection, and for today, he could have it. Riddle had just killed his father and taken their family heirloom, yet Lucius was soft and pliant in his arms, lips moving hesitantly, and Riddle had to restrain the urge to laugh manically.

Instead, he kissed his way down Lucius’ jaw and pressed wet kisses to his neck. Girls always liked it when he did that. Sure enough, Lucius gasped and clung to him tightly.

“Not here,” Riddle said. “Where’s your room?”

“It’s-second floor,” Lucius said, pointing vaguely.

On a whim, Riddle picked Lucius up. It was easy, Riddle was tall and Lucius fit into the curve of his arm as well as any fair maid. Lucius put his arms around Riddle’s neck and Riddle kissed him again. Sweet boy, so naive, so eager, so  _ useful _ . Riddle carried him across the hall, down a flight of stairs to his room. He glanced around, once. Stereotypical. Putting the boy down on his bed, Riddle unfastened the ties of his cloak and began to unbutton his shirt. He had never undressed Lucius before. It seemed more powerful to watch as the boy bared himself for him, but Riddle found there was also a certain joy in unwrapping him like a prize. As he laid bare the skin, Riddle pressed his lips to it, marking with his lips where he had never touched with anything other than pain. He took a pebbled nipple into his mouth and swiped his tongue around it, biting down gently. So different from a girl’s full breasts, yet Lucius did not seem any less sensitive. Lucius gasped and clutched at the sheets.

“You can touch me,” Riddle said.

Lucius’ eyes lit up. It was something he wanted, all the time, he loved to touch but Riddle took pleasure in keeping him tied up. Wonderingly, Lucius reached for Riddle’s face, running his palm over Riddle’s prominent cheekbone and angular jaw. Riddle smiled and kissed him, and Lucius sank his fingers into Riddle’s dark hair, moaning into his mouth, drawing his legs up to wrap around Riddle’s hips as though he wanted to press himself as close as he possibly could.

“Today,” Riddle said between kisses, “I will give you everything you ask for. You deserve to be rewarded for your bravery and loyalty.”

“Mmm...thank you, Master…” Lucius gazed at him, eyes shining.

Riddle divested Lucius of his clothes. He lay against the silk bedspreads, pale and pretty, a rosy cock jutting from soft blond curls. Riddle liked to look at him. 

“So beautiful. Would you like me to touch it, my Lucius?”

“Yes, please.”

Riddle dragged his fingers across Lucius’ fluffy balls and gripped firmly the base of his cock. He stroked it slowly, pushing the foreskin up, and then pulling it back to expose the leaking head.

“Would you like me to suck it?”

“Yes!”

Riddle gave the head a long, flat swipe with his tongue. It was bitter, but not unpleasant. Lucius jerked in response, a little sound escaping his lips. Riddle rolled his tongue languidly around the head.

“Tom…”

Riddle drew back immediately. Lucius’ eyes widened and clouded with fear.

“I mean, Master. I’m sorry.”

Riddle considered it for a moment, and realised that this was an excellent example to teach Lucius with.

“I don’t like that name,” he said softly, “because I am named after my muggle father.”

“Oh,” said Lucius, looking shocked, perhaps at the strange idea that his lord was the son of a  _ muggle _ .

“It surprises you, does it not? It surprised me, when I learned the truth of it. My father left my mother when he learned she was a witch, though she was heavy with child. I found him and I killed him. It gave me great satisfaction to see the life go out of him. Is today not a similar day of celebration, for you?”

“For me?” Lucius repeated. “My father was not quite so...heartless.”

“Was he not?” Riddle narrowed his eyes, biting back a smirk. “Little Lucius Malfoy, four years old, turning all the china into porcelain animals to dance around the table. Your father should have been proud-such a strong manifestation of magical ability in a child so young. Yet what did he do?”

“He called me insolent and sent me to my room,” said Lucius quietly.

“When he got your Hogwarts report your first year, you had ‘O’s and ‘E’s in all your subjects, just a lone ‘A’ in Herbology. Your father called you to his study and threw it in your face. He said if you couldn’t handle playing with mud you didn’t deserve the tuition he sends to the school each year. You remember that?”

“Vividly,” said Lucius.

“And so recently, when a vicious enemy disgraced you in front of all your peers, when you most needed someone to protect you from your weaknesses, he put the last nail in the coffin by declaring you disowned. This is the wizard you call father. How has he treated you? You have been a tool, a puppet. Why would you cry for him? His removal liberates you.”

Lucius nodded, eyes shadowed. 

“I have made you the Head of House Malfoy. You have millions at your disposal, a voice in the Wizengamot, and the favour of the most powerful wizard of this age. You can do anything you want. This is what I promised you.”

Lucius gazed at him with renewed worship. “Thank you, Master.”

Riddle smiled. This was something he had learned from a young age, convincing other children they wanted to give their toys to him, they  _ wanted  _ to go hungry and give Riddle their food. What was truth, when he could make true whatever he wanted to justify? What was free will, when some pleasantly spoken words could make others willingly do his bidding?

“Now, I believe I promised you a reward.”

Lucius’s cock, which had flagged during Riddle’s talk, jerked in response. Riddle stroked him until he was fully hard and put his mouth on it again. Lucius had sucked Riddle’s cock for him enough times that Riddle had a good idea what would bring pleasure. He used both hands as he sucked, one fondling Lucius’ balls, the other wrapped around the base of Lucius’ cock, tugging in the same rhythm as his mouth moved. It was not an act that brought Riddle particular enjoyment, but nor did he dislike it. He approached it as he would any other ability, aiming to produce the best results. From the way Lucius was moaning and grabbing at his hair, he was doing well.

“Master, master can I come?”

Riddle hummed his approval, gaze flickering upwards to Lucius’ face. Lucius’ face was deeply flushed, his eyes dark and dilated with arousal as he watched Riddle with wonderment. Riddle locked gaze with him as Lucius groaned and thrust and came into his mouth in hot spurts. Lucius came for quite a while, his body tense and his eyes glazed. When he finally went limp, Riddle pulled away and rolled the liquid around his mouth contemplatively. It was an interesting taste. He had never thought about what his own might taste like, but it was probably the same.

He kissed Lucius, feeding the boy’s come into his own mouth. Lucius was pliant and sated, swallowing as Riddle passed it to him.

“Thank you, master,” said Lucius.

Riddle entertained a fantasy of making Lucius kneel in front of him every day, mouth open, as he stroked his cock over his face and came into his mouth. Lucius would eat it up and thank him for it. That did not have to remain a fantasy.

Hard at the thought of abusing Lucius, Riddle stepped back from the bed and brought up his hands to untie his own cloak. 

“Would you like to watch me undress?” He asked coyly.

Lucius giggled and moved, turning onto his stomach so he faced the foot of the bed, where Riddle stood, holding up his head with his hands, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Very much, Master.”

Lucius looked so very childish, and so small Riddle wondered how Lucius had taken his cock so many times. Amused at himself, for this position he had never expected to be in, Riddle began to make a show of it, painstakingly slowly sliding each button from each hole, dropping his shirt, breeches, and boots to the floor, and under Lucius’ feverish gaze, stroked his hand over the sizeable bulge in his underpants, which he adjusted until it peeked out from his waistband.

“Please, can I-?” Lucius reached for him, desire written all over his flushed face.

Riddle let him pull his pants down. His cock sprung free and hit Lucius in the face. Lucius moaned, opening his mouth wide, and Riddle thrust it into his mouth.  Lucius grabbed it with both hands and licked and sucked at the head, moaning so eagerly. Riddle longed to grab his hair and fuck his face so roughly that he cried.

“So eager,” Riddle said, stroking Lucius’ hair instead. “Where’s your lubricant?”

Lucius rummaged through his discarded cloak with one hand, apparently unwilling to let go of Riddle’s cock. He held up the vial triumphantly.

Riddle got onto the bed and lay back, stroking his cock. 

“Do whatever you want, Lucius.”

The boy straddled Riddle’s hips, grinding his bottom against Riddle’s cock, and putting his hands all over the wide expanse of Riddle’s torso. He looked delighted.

“Whatever I want, Master? Really?” He leaned down to kiss Riddle, his tongue sharp with challenge.

“Mhm.”

“Can I fuck you?”

“No.”

Lucius pouted. “But that’s what I want. Don’t I deserve it? I brought you here...let you kill my father...I gave you that book.”

In such moments like this, when Riddle eased back his dominating influence and Lucius’ personality shone through, Riddle recognised that personality was not what attracted him to Lucius. Lucius Malfoy was naive, silly, a little spoilt. When he acted his age, it annoyed Riddle. Riddle liked Lucius for his usefulness and submissiveness. What Lucius suggested was unacceptable.  _ He  _ would never submit in such a way.

“I suggest you take my gift as I offer it, boy,” Riddle warned.

Seeing his expression, Lucius nodded at once. He had learned when not to push.

“Kiss me?” Lucius said tentively, and Riddle responded generously.

Riddle felt Lucius’ hands on him, running all over his skin, relishing the opportunity to touch as much as he wanted. Lucius shifted back on Riddle’s legs, and touched his abdomen, his thighs, everywhere but Riddle’s groin, teasing him. He reached up between Riddle’s legs and caressed Riddle’s hole, biting his lip and looking up to gauge Riddle’s reaction. Riddle gave him none.

Licking his lips, he uncorked his vial of lubricant and let it drizzle onto Riddle’s erect cock. He spread it liberally with his palms, lingering, looking absolutely ecstatic to be doing so. Riddle had not realised how much restraint would be needed for this gift of his, he so strongly wished to pin Lucius down and penetrate him, fast and brutal. Yet he held his silence, his innate understanding of power play inhibiting him from making a sound, even an encouragement for Lucius to hurry. He feigned disinterest, watching Lucius move with a bored look.

It was the right strategy. Lucius’ eyes flickered to him several times, and obviously grew anxious that he wasn’t pleasing him. With a stuttering breath, he mounted Riddle’s hips and lined up his hole with the blunt head. Riddle’s cock strained towards the promise of tight, hot suction, and he stared Lucius in the eyes until Lucius sank down, gasping, lifting himself up and down until he was seated snugly on Riddle’s cock. Riddle had never allowed himself the pause to appreciate how supremely tight Lucius’ arse was, how maddeningly it clung to his cock, pulsing, and he let himself be tugged at by the strong desire for friction, knowing that next time he could pound into Lucius, he would savour it all the more.

With a litany of little gasps, Lucius began to move against him, rolling his hips in place and lifting ever so slightly. In time he tried for bigger movements, lifting his hips fully to bounce on Riddle’s cock. Lucius tugged at his own cock, his mouth open and panting, forcefully propelling himself up and down. Riddle noted that if Lucius was facing the other way, he would be able to clearly see Lucius impaling himself repeatedly on his cock, and hold the boy’s legs open wide. Riddle imagined holding him up in front of a full-length mirror, forcing him to look at himself in such filthy decadence as Riddle filled him up. Lucius plummeted to a stop, panting heavily, and gave Riddle a rather sulky look.

“Master...help?”

“Help what?” Riddle couldn’t resist asking.

“Help fuck me properly,” Lucius murmured meekly, tipping forward to bury his face in the curve of Riddle’s neck, sucking and kissing eagerly.

Riddle moved. Just a general adjustment of his position made Lucius give a shuddering gasp, so deeply did this position allow Riddle to penetrate him. He grasped Lucius’ hips, unable to resist a satisfied hiss as he was finally able to plunge deeply in and out of Lucius’ tight hole. Lucius cried out as Riddle picked up the pace, slamming into the boy’s small body with loud, wet slaps.

“Oh! So good, Master! Need to, need to come!”

“Come, then.”

Lucius jerked against him, cock shooting spurts of come onto Riddle’s abdomen. His hole became unbelievably tight, and Riddle fucked him ruthlessly, fingers closing on Lucius’ hips with bruising force. Lucius half sobbed as Riddle thrust into him through his climax, and then, unable to resist any longer, Riddle rolled them both around so Lucius was under him, and pounded him into the mattress, until he came into Lucius’ arse.

Riddle was breathing heavily after he had ejaculated, and reluctant to pull out from Lucius’ body. He leaned down to kiss Lucius’ lips, and Lucius kissed him back sweetly, limp and sated. Riddle lay on top of the boy for a while longer. Lucius didn’t seem to mind. He wrapped his arms around Riddle’s waist, rested his cheek against Riddle’s shoulder, and closed his eyes.

As he recovered from the pleasure of sex, Riddle’s mind began to dwell on more important things. The murder of Abraxas Malfoy would need to be covered up. The Malfoy house elf would have to be framed. Since no living thing could get through the Malfoy Manor’s wards without the invitation of a Malfoy or sizeable disruption, it would be the most viable option to modify the house elf’s memory to make her believe she had killed her master in a burst of accidental magic. There always had been talk of purebloods abusing their elves. That book, tucked into the pocket of his cloak, possibly held the secrets of his immortality, and he would have to spend some time on it. As enjoyable as it was to fuck his little Lucius, Lord Voldemort simply had too many goals to allow him much time to indulge his carnal desires.

“It’s getting late,” Riddle said, pulling out of Lucius with a wet squelch. “Get dressed.”


	3. The Dark Lord's Favour

Christmas morning at the Rosier house, Tom Riddle awoke with Lucius curled up in his arms. He looked down at the mess of cloudy blond hair fanned across his shoulder, the minute flutter of eyelashes as Lucius stirred in his sleep, his cheeks lightly flushed with a hint of childish roundness. This was the sort of moment, Tom mused, when people were supposed to feel some sort of satisfying domesticity. What was it about having another human to share one’s bed and life that normal people found so enticing?

Weakness, Riddle concluded. He shifted his hand lower to cup the curve of Lucius’ bottom, pressing two fingers into the damp, loosened hole. Those who were weak, who needed another to support them in their moments of vulnerability, desired a partner. Tom Riddle required no equal. His willing, stupid whore served him just fine.

In one swift movement, he mounted Lucius, grabbing a fistful of fine hair and thrusting his morning erection into its ready hole. Lucius woke with a startled yelp, squirming under Riddle, his voice breaking into heavy breathing and shaky moans. Riddle threw the duvet aside, admiring with hooded gaze the narrow, elegant line of Lucius’ waist, the pale curve of his buttocks as the darker flesh of Riddle’s cock impaled it repeatedly. Such a perfect canvas inspired Riddle’s artistic imagination. Many times had he painted this skin with crimson stripes, angry welts, webs of cuts. Every time Lucius healed over he yearned to break him again. Perhaps he could give Lucius a more permanent mark, for his eyes and amusement only.

With a rough jerk, he pulled Lucius up against his chest, and said into his ear, “I have a Christmas present for you, darling.”

“Thank you, master,” replied Lucius dutifully, polite little thing that he was.

Riddle chuckled. “Hand me my wand.”

Lucius scrambled gracelessly for the length of yew laying on the bedside table. Riddle took it from him and pressed him down into the pillow, smoothing his hand over the pale skin at the base of Lucius’ spine, pressing his thumb in circles at his favoured spot.

“If you try not to cry, Lucius,” Riddle said lazily, “I might let you come.”

“M-master?” Alarmed, Lucius clenched around Riddle’s length.

Riddle clamped a hand down on the back of Lucius’ neck, keeping him pinned in place. He pressed the tip of his wand to the base of Lucius’ spine, where the dip of his waist rose to meet the curve of his arse, and traced the initials L.V. 

The letters seared into Lucius’ pale skin with the distinct scent of burning flesh. Lucius screamed loudly enough to echo through the walls, thrashing uncontrollably. Riddle held him in place absently, thinking through the latin he needed to use to invoke a simple claiming ritual through sex magic. He had an intuitive gift for such things. He had a focal point, the two parties, and a claim - he began murmuring the incantations necessary - now he needed an acknowledgement of surrender from his prey.

“Concedo, Lucius,” he ordered, thrusting into the boy with brutal force.

“Vicisti,” Lucius sobbed. “Vicisti, dominus. Vicisti.”

Riddle climaxed, filling Lucius with his seed, and the two charred letters on the small of Lucius’ back flashed green, imbibed with the magic of the ritual.

“There,” Riddle said, drawing out of Lucius’ trembling body. No semen dripped from Lucius’ arse. His ejaculate had been sacrificed to the ritual.

Lucius sobbed into the pillow, his shoulders heaving. Riddle wondered for a moment if it was worth the effort to offer him a little comfort, but decided he couldn’t spare the patience. Instead, he pulled Lucius up and tugged him into the bathroom, turning him so he could see the newly etched mark on his back.

“Mine,” said Riddle, deeply satisfied, pulling Lucius up for a thorough, possessive kiss. “Now you are tied to me more than any other of my followers. It shall be our secret, Lucius, that you alone bear the mark of my desire.”

Blinking tearfully, Lucius leaned into Riddle’s embrace and turned his cheek into the curve of Riddle’s neck as though taking comfort in his proximity. Lucius did so like to cling to him. Riddle could allow that. He brought his arms up around Lucius’ waist and impatiently waited for him to stop sniffling.

“I like it, master, thank you,” said Lucius, eventually, his voice hoarse.

“Do you really?” Riddle asked, amused. “I thought you were screaming for Rosier to come and observe again. Indeed, it is possible only the trauma of the last time he entered these rooms prevented it.”

Lucius blushed.

“In time, you shall learn to be grateful for the pain I give you as much as the pleasure. Perhaps I shall only allow you to touch yourself as I take a whip to your back.”

The way Lucius flinched at that told Riddle he should perhaps have kept that idea to himself. Lucius did not need to know all the ideas Riddle had to torture him. So he reined in his sadistic imagination, and allowed Lucius some of the affection he was so starved for.

They headed down to join the other occupants of the Rosier House shortly. As the Rosiers celebrated Winter Solstice in the pagan tradition, Christmas day was no grand affair. They found the other young Slytherins gathered in the First Parlour, chatting over tea and newspapers. As the two of them walked in, a tawny ministry owl fluttered up to Riddle and Lucius, and then appeared to become seized by indecision. 

Interesting. Riddle held out his hand decisively, and the owl allowed him to relieve it of its burden, a ministry sealed summons for Lucius. He broke the seal and skimmed through it. 

“Grievous news,” he announced mildly. The occupants of the room gave Riddle their collective attention. “It appears Lord Abraxas Malfoy has passed away suddenly in his own home. Lucius has been summoned to the reading of his will next Monday.”

Riddle handed the letter to Lucius to read for himself, and took a seat, pouring himself a cup of tea. 

“How convenient,” commented Rosier, giving Riddle a sidelong glance.

“As our esteemed Professor Dumbledore likes to say, fate moves in mysterious ways, and death is but the next...challenge, was it?” 

“Adventure,” supplied Lestrange, snickering.

“Indeed. We must wish the late Lord Malfoy luck in his afterworldly endeavors,” remarked Selwyn briskly.

In contrast with the general merriment of the room, Lucius stood stricken and pale where he clutched the letter. Riddle eyed him carefully. Had he not convinced the silly child of the reasonableness to his father’s death? Perhaps his thoughts were clouded with yet more sentiment. 

“But where are our manners,” said Riddle, inclining his head towards Lucius’ frozen form. “We ought to be congratulating the new Lord Malfoy on his inheritance.”

Dolohov and Avery, ever the slowest in wit, only then realised the high position Lucius was now posed to take, and began to crowd him with unconvincing flattery. Nevertheless, Riddle expected it to be enough to distract the boy from any unnecessarily melancholy thoughts.

“He is not Lord Malfoy yet,” said Rosier to Riddle.

“Then I must ask that you ensure it be so,” Riddle replied. “Or are you not my expert in all things beauracratic?”

“There has not been a patriarch this young since the White Wars. But I can dig up some old laws if needed.”

“See to it,” said Riddle, tiring of the rabble. “I need to borrow your library. See that I am not disturbed.”

Riddle had been concerned enough at Lucius’ words regarding the horcrux ritual that he had abandoned his plans to conduct the ritual at Yuletide. While the celestial alignment of that date would lend the most power to his ritual, it would not be significantly affected if he chose a lesser date once he was sure of its effects. Having been occupied with the festivities in the past few days, Riddle now barricaded himself in the Rosier family library to decipher the journal of Lucius’ ancestor. The text was priceless and fascinating. 

Riddle was still studying the journal the day Lucius left to hear his father’s will, hardly sparing the boy a glance as he waved him off. The written testimony of Septimus Malfoy was a hair-raising read. The journal began in the manner of a scientist, astonishing for a wizard who had lived close to six hundred years ago. The prose, though archaic, was clear, precise, and logical. He detailed his first kill and ritual clinically. Then, from the entries dated a few months after his successful first horcrux ritual, the writing took on a most erratic quality. Septimus detailed his increased anger and bloodthirst. His increasing paranoia was apparent. He began to speak often of a need for a second, better, horcrux ritual. He developed a second version with a crueller, bloodier sacrifice, which he carried out a year and some months after the first. Riddle recognised this as the version of the ritual he had heard of and had been poised to attempt. The result was not improved. 

In addition to the deepened side effects of the first ritual, his thought process became jumbled and unclear. He wrote progressively more often as the journal progressed, but as the time went on its content was reduced to spitting, incoherent blood purity rhetoric, the need for a bloodbath of muggles, and a deep conviction that muggles would kill him if he did not kill them first. He attempted a third horcrux ritual, but by that point his articulation was so unclear Riddle could not be sure whether the ritual was successful. Sometime before or after the third ritual, Septimus was hunted as a dark wizard by a group of muggles led by a wizard. He had drawn attention to himself with his constant murders outside of the need of the horcrux ritual. After the possible third ritual, Septimus’ state of mind deteriorated to the point where the journal was no longer decipherable. Riddle came to this point in his translation late in the afternoon, and sat staring at the manuscript for long moments, feeling cold at the thought that he had almost attempted this ritual. He had been confident in its effects. He had even entertained the thought of creating three or seven horcruxes. It was clear from the book that the ritual was deeply flawed. Septimus Malfoy seemed to have been a remarkable wizard, yet after the first ritual, the paranoia and bloodthirst that struck him spurred the events that led to his destruction until things were out of his control. Without this book, Riddle would have already attempted the ritual, and he did not doubt that he would have succeeded. Without Lucius Malfoy, Riddle would have made a most uninformed decision.

Was he thus indebted to Lucius Malfoy? His pride objected to the idea. It was not through merit that Lucius had helped Riddle avoid a most unpleasant fate, but merely naivety and devotion. Yet without him, Riddle would have acted on false, incomplete information, and faced almost certain insanity and ruin. Riddle wanted Lord Voldemort to be a just and generous lord. He would not tolerate incompetence, but neither would he overlook good service. For this, Lucius deserved more than just an hour of affection from him. But neither would he allow Lucius to hold this over his head. 

When his kingdom is built, Riddle thought, he would allow Lucius a place of honour. He would not share power, of course; but for the loyalty and faith Lucius had shown him, he deserved some prestige. The boy had potential. Riddle would restrain himself from the casual manipulation that cut at Lucius’ self-esteem and only fed Riddle’s amusement. With a bit more confidence, Lucius could grow to be a most formidable wizard. That, then, would be Riddle’s reward for Lucius: that he would not be used up and discarded. That Riddle would sacrifice some portion of his amusement for Lucius’ best interests. 

“My lord?” Riddle recognised Lucius’ voice, low and hesitant.

The young boy stood in the doorway of the library in his cloak and dress robes, looking like a child dressed up for an occasion, which, Riddle supposed, he was.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, but you asked me to come to you when I came back.”

Riddle beckoned him forward and pulled the boy onto his lap. Curling an arm around Lucius’ waist, he closed the horcrux journal with his other hand and pushed it aside.

“Yes?” He said, close to Lucius’ ear. 

Lucius’ breath hitched, and he relaxed in Riddle’s arms. Having rarely been touched all his life, Lucius reveled in any gentle touch Riddle allowed him.

“They don’t want to give me anything but my trust fund. They say I am too young for the inheritance, so they will freeze the Malfoy estate and our seat on the Wizengamot, and assign me a Ministry-approved guardian. I didn’t sign their papers. I told them I must speak with my advisors.”

Riddle narrowed his eyes. This reeked of Dumbledore’s meddling. With his fingers in as many pots as Dumbledore had, he was bound to notice the suspicious circumstances of Abraxas Malfoy’s death in connection with the recent events at Hogwarts. His dear Transfiguration professor would not hesitate to suspect the worst of Riddle. However, he was confident Dumbledore would find no proof to tie him to the death. Keeping his wrinkled hands from Lucius’ inheritance was a matter for Rosier’s expertise, however.

“You did rightly,” Riddle said, smoothing a hand over Lucius’ cheek. The boy leaned into his touch and kissed his fingers. “I will not allow that to happen.”

As pleased as he was with Lucius, he idly wondered how stupid he was, how stupid all of them were, to so trustingly place their lives in his hands. Rosier seemed to be the only one who quite understood his choice to be bound to Riddle, and he seemed to believe that he would always be on Riddle’s right side, always be useful. That was a distinct possibility, but if the benefits of sacrificing him outweighed his usefulness, Riddle would do so without remorse. Riddle could not imagine ever putting himself into such a vulnerable position, but he supposed he was different. That he was innately superior was the only logical conclusion he could draw from his observations of human behaviour. It was only his right to stake his claim.

Riddle cupped his hand over Lucius’ crotch and fondled him through his pretty dress robes.The boy squirmed on his lap, looking at him with anticipation and some measure of apprehension.

“Why are you worried, my Lucius? Lord Voldemort protects what is his.”

Murmuring in agreement, Lucius pushed eagerly into his hand, laying his head against Riddle’s shoulder with an open, trusting expression. 

“My pretty boy,” Riddle praised, stroking Lucius through a handful of silk. “I will protect you. Provide for you. Teach you what you need to learn. So beautiful, so young...my sweet Lucius. You are right to put your faith in me. I will make you great.”

Hitching up Lucius’ robes, Riddle pressed his cock into Lucius’ wet hole. Gripping Lucius’ thighs, he lifted the boy so that his own weight would push him firmly onto Riddle’s cock. Once Lucius was sitting impaled on Riddle’s lap, Riddle stopped to suck bruises into Lucius’ neck. Lucius melted into him, pliant and gasping, reaching back to grasp at Riddle’s waist rather than touching himself. His boy was well-trained.

“You’ll like whatever I give you, won’t you?” Riddle continued to monologue softly, fucking Lucius with slow, shallow thrusts. “You would follow me wherever I go.”

Lucius made whimpering affirmative noises, his hips jerking in response to Riddle’s gentle violation.

“How could I deny you, my Lucius, when all you ask for is my favour? You will have that, and more. The rewards I will give unto you are unimaginable.”

Taking Lucius’ straining cock, Riddle stroked it until Lucius’ come spurted over his fine robes.

  
Since the horcrux ritual had proved too dangerous to attempt, Riddle would have to explore other avenues of immortality. Immortality itself was a non-negotiable point. He, Tom Riddle, was clearly the closest thing to a god that humanity had pr oduced. He was rational, brilliant, charming, and detached. There could be no better leader of the human race than he, and he neither intended for his conquest to be cut short by mortality, nor to yield his kingdom to a lesser man upon old age or death. He had a few leads on vampires in Eastern Europe, but that would have to wait until after he graduated. 

These last few months to maintain appearances would be tiresome. Riddle had no need to worry about NEWTs, yet all his cohorts would be occupied with it. His plans were laid, he had learned all he could, and he was satisfied he knew all the secrets that Hogwarts could hold. The only pastime he would have in this last term would be to coach his lessers on those tedious exams and take his pleasure in Lucius’ body. The shaping of a mind, however, was a far more fascinating task. Lucius was so young, so malleable. How could he be shaped to become Lord Voldemort’s perfect soldier?

As the world reeled from the wounds it had suffered from its latest struggle of forces, Tom Marvolo Riddle planned out the road to Armageddon. 


End file.
